Vignettes
by Naora
Summary: **Now up: Sam, my favorite!** A series of short, introspective dramatic monologues from various characters' points of view. Sounds really interesting, don't it? Hey, I tried! Gimme a break here! And gimme a chance, is it too much to ask? **FINISHED**
1. Bilbo

  
DISCLAIMER: No own. I don't even own the _idea_ for this.   
AUTHOR'S NOTES: All right, this is _slightly_ tough to explain, but I'll give it a shot.   
In my Brit Lit class, _Fellowship_ was one of our assigned readings. And instead of writing an essay about it this time, as we had with all our other parallel reading books, my teacher handed us this project sheet. They were all creative projects: I toyed with the idea of doing a large, quality illustration of one of the characters, but then I remembered that somehow almost all my art supplies disappeared (we have a black hole in my house) and I wasn't that good either. Then I realized that one of the projects basically equaled "write fanfiction," which I do anyway *grins* So that's what I did. More specifically, write a short (one-page) essay/story on what a character (any character) is thinking/feeling at a particular place in the book.   
Fanfiction, no? So I got out my thinking cap, hammered away at my writer's block, and gave it my best. The first one I wrote didn't turn out so good, but apparently the others were all right. I don't think I hit my stride until the second, where I attempted Bilbo. That's what's below. I'd just like to see if anyone agrees with my interpretation... or something like that. It sounded so much better in my head. What I'm posting is what I turned in to my teacher, no edits. The little thing in italics at the beginning is the introduction to each section we had to put on to explain when this was taking place, and also where.   
There's one problem in here where I got the order of the story mixed up, but I chose not to correct it. I like that part. Thanks for listening to my rambling!   
  


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_This one takes place when Bilbo's hiding in the corner in the spacious room at Rivendell, before he's revealed to be Bilbo, when he's just observing. It mostly focuses on Frodo._   
  
He seems so different now, as if he's become a different person before my eyes - and he has, more than once, but this time it's different. I have watched my nephew, my heir, my closest friend in the world come back from death's door almost overnight. Before now, the only thing that betrayed the fact there was still life in him was the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the words that seemed to spill themselves from his mouth, pushed by some force other than his will.   
I often looked in on him when no one was sure whether he'd live or die, but never when one of his friends was there. They all knew me on sight, and I didn't know what they'd do when they saw the changes that have come over me in just the few months I've been gone. Now that the ring is out of my possession time's affects on my body are rapidly catching up and overtaking me; the transformation of decades is compressed to weeks. I feel my age, great even for a hobbit, catching up to me and gripping me day by day, hour by hour - and I can no longer stop it.   
Frodo is more than my closest friend. He's almost a reminder of myself at his age, which has to be fifty now. And yet, at the same time, not. He's much more worldly, much more secretive, and much less naïve. I suppose being brought up the "eccentric adventurer" will do that to a young hobbit. He's thinner than he was when I last saw him, so many years ago, but he's again in the pink of health after that close brush with death. But he's acquired a look in those years, one I know well, as I saw it - and still see it - in my own face. It's the look that only comes after a life-changing event: an adventure. We hobbits have them rarely enough that it's easy enough for one who's had the experience to spot another.   
I can't help but wonder if he has only recently acquired the look, in his journey here. From what Gandalf has said, and what I've heard with my own ears, the four young friends have had a time getting even as far as they have. I know, as they don't, that they have far to go indeed; their journey has hardly begun, and as usual the most perilous part is certain to come. An adventurer is always in the greatest danger right before the end; I should know.   
I want to go with them. I want so badly to go with them that I can feel it in the air I breathe, every pore of my skin, every hair on my body. I'm writing my memoirs not just to have an accurate (well, mostly accurate) record of my journeys, but also to take me back to that time, that time when I was so happy even though I was in danger of my life every day. I was _alive_ then. But the rapid aging has had more than just surface effects; my body couldn't take the hardships now. So the most I can do is watch Frodo.   
And here is Elrond, reading my internal thoughts with a certain peculiar twist as always, talking easily to my nephew. For now, I am just an anonymous figure in a dark wrap, leaning in a corner, being allowed this time for reflection and meditation, although neither are hard to find at Rivendell. Soon I shall be caught up in the festivities and jocularly needled by my new friends and old ones such as Gloin that I haven't seen in years. But for now, I just wish to remain unknown, in my corner, observing the hobbit I watch grow for so many years, then had to cut loose and leave to his own devices. It may well be the last time I ever have the luxury.   
  


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AUTHOR'S NOTES II: So? Did I totally screw up? 


	2. Galadriel

  
This one was one of my teacher's favorites, along with Bilbo's. I never told her (and I hope she never sees this) but I didn't actually get this far in the book. I only got to the Council of Elrond. After that I just skimmed until I found the passage with Galadriel and Frodo at her mirror, and based this one off those few pages I read on her.   
  


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_Time for a female's perspective. This one is on Galadriel, thinking about the Ring and all she could do with it. Happens while Frodo's looking into her mirror and just after._   
  
Hobbits seem to be stout little creatures, for all some of my kinsmen think them quaint and simple. They have their own ways, that is all. And the ones that have been brought to us by Legolas are anything but simple, for they have been through much. One in particular carries a heavy burden - the one named Frodo Baggins.   
Oh, and what a burden! The One Ring, the ring able to control all nineteen of the ancient rings, the item in this world that has the single greatest power. I can feel it; its power is all around, reaching out for any forms of life, although it searches most for that non-life, the ringwraiths. But it also searches for anyone who would be able to use its powers. I know I am such a one, and I can feel it reaching for me.   
But it will not take me. It is not my aim to rule more than I know I can hold, and rule it fairly and justly. With the ring I would have vast realms at my feet, more subjects than I could ever wish, and power over it all. But it would corrupt me, as it has corrupted all its users throughout history, and in the end I would vanish into the pages of history like all the others it used for its own purposes. I would never rule unfairly, but too much justice can be as bad for a people as too little.   
And yes my heart craves for that power, the forbidden power that has been the downfall of so many human men. _But,_ I seem to hear a voice saying in my very being, _are you neither human nor man? Perhaps an Elven woman would finally turn it to good._ And yet another voice fights back with _Remember Isildur._ And it is those two words I cling to, to remind me that I already have one of the Elven rings and to bring to mind what happened to a good man because he simply could not throw the ring away.   
And… can it be? Yes, this stout little hobbit is offering me the opportunity! This generous, adorably naïve little hobbit is offering the One Ring to the wise, fair Galadriel…   
My mind knows I cannot take it, but something inside me calls to the ring with such force I can hardly ignore it. It's pulling me towards the hobbit, pulling my soul although my body is not moving, and into my head dance wondrous visions, visions of what the world would be like if I presided over all. I would be Queen, brighter than the moon, more beautiful than the sun, fair and good.   
Too good.   
I would not be Galadriel anymore; I would simply be a tool, a pawn of the unthinking ring. A willing pawn, and most likely unaware that I was being manipulated. While accepting the ring would ensure that my people would not be driven off or forgotten, the risk to our collective identity is too great.   
Yes, this hobbit has a braver heart than any of his people. He is willing to carry on his quest to the end, to the fires of Mount Doom. But he is also young, and scared. He would be rid of his burden if he could, but he knows enough to never commit it to the hands of someone who would use it for evil or be twisted to its evil ways. So he offers it to me, fairest of all creatures, as the one best able to use it for good.   
It is a test. A test of my will. And I pass.   
I have my own ring. That is enough.   



	3. Gimli

  
This one was weird. I needed six, I had five. I had tried doing one for Gloin, and one for Goldberry, but neither of those two were working out. _Slight_ problem there. And then I hit upon doing one from Gimli's perspective, and then burying it in the middle so at the end my teacher wouldn't remember it as well as others *guilty grin* I guess it worked. *shrug* I don't know if it's _bad_, I just don't know if I like it as much as others, like Sam's and Galadriel's. Anyway, here's Gimli.   
  


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_The dwarf's turn. Gimli reflects on certain things right before the start of the Council of Elrond._   
  
When sitting among all these people, I feel small and insignificant. I have no heroic deeds or great learning to my name. I'm a simple dwarf, one with almost impossible ambitions. Being a good fighter does not make you a hero. And there are so many heroes here it's almost impossible to comprehend. Gandalf the Grey is not the least of them, and may be the bravest among us. Certainly one of the wisest, if not _the_ wisest. He knows my father of old, and my father talks of the wizard often, fondly.   
Even the little hobbits here are heroes. We did not know much about their race before Bilbo Baggins traveled with my father and Thorin Oakenshield and their companions to destroy the dragon Smaug, but Bilbo's nephew Frodo and his friends Peregrin, Meriadoc, and Samwise are proving as stalwart and determined as my father's old acquaintance. From the limited amount I've heard they have been through dangers innumerable since they left their quiet home in the Shire I've only heard about through my father's stories.   
Growing up the son of one of the most famous dwarves in recent history has its downsides, as does any high position. All my life I have heard of the journey to the Lonely Mountain. In my mind I can see each and every detail of the epic battle that ended with three of the companions dead, including Thorin, the leader. My father and his friends came out victorious heroes, and many people expect me to live up to their legacy. It is a hard thing to do when there are no large problems.   
But recently several large problems have fallen into our laps. Balin, Ori, and Oin, whom I considered surrogate uncles, have vanished. No more messages come from the mines of Moria. And recently messengers have arrived from that greatest of all evil beings, Sauron, asking about hobbits and a certain ring. We do not know what they mean by the ring, only that it must be very important, but it is plain they are looking for Bilbo. No one wants to give up an old friend of the dwarves to evil, so my father and I were sent to Rivendell to ask the advice of beings wiser than us.   
And here we learn about the ring, and its power, and the evil that is rising in the distant lands, and how its tentacles of evil are spreading again over our land. And we learn as well about the quest to destroy that ring and end forever the reign of Sauron.   
And here is my chance to prove myself to everyone who doubts me.   
But I don't care what the others think. I only care about one person: Gloin, my father. He is a loving father, and has never put pressure on me to be anything but what I want for myself. He only wants to see me do well in the path I choose. How could I tell such a contented soul that I wanted to be just like him? I wanted to walk in his footsteps, become a hero. I wanted it more than anyone wanted me to do it. I perhaps am my own worst critic, and put more pressure on myself than anyone else.   
So it is I who is going to represent the dwarves on this quest, the greatest of all time, where the rewards are almost as dangerous as losing. The risk of death is high, but I wave aside that concern without giving it a thought; it will be enough, I know, to have gone on this quest of all.   
And maybe I can live up to my father's name.   



	4. Merry

  
This is easily the worst of the lot. I'm not saying it sucks, but Merry's was the first one I did. I kinda like it, but it's not as expansive as the others, it doesn't cover as much ground. I hadn't gotten the hang of LotR then (I still don't think I have it fully), but it got better as time went on. You can see what I mean if you look at Bilbo's, his was the second one I did.   
(By the way, Elwing, if you're reading this, do you ever go into the anime section?)   


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_This monologue is from Merry's point of view, trying to explain what he's thinking Frodo is going through before they all set off together on the quest (it takes place right before Frodo, Pippin, and Sam get to Frodo's new home). _   
  
Sometimes lately I don't know what is the matter with him. He's so secretive lately, so withdrawn and private. He was never the most talkative of us - that dubious honor is fought for between myself and Pippin - and he always seemed contemplative. Withdrawn, almost, from the regular cares of the world. But he's been brooding even more than usual in these past few months, as if he knows something inexplicably sad that we don't.   
Several times this summer at least one of us, usually Sam, has followed him on his walks, and he'd pause in a place we see every day and wonder aloud if he'd ever see it again. We all knew he was planning on moving, but this seemed to reach deeper than that: it was like he was going away for good, not just a small distance that could be covered in two days. There was just something peculiar in his manner, something that kept walking up to us and saying, "something is wrong here".   
He wasn't able to hide it. We knew Frodo so well that we could detect any minute change in his manner from a distance, even at mealtimes… except when we were very, very hungry. There was something in him that made him completely transparent to us, released the colors of his soul for us to read as easy as the words on the tavern sign; perhaps easier, as his emotions weren't faded with age. And so Pippin and I have both noticed the secretiveness that is beginning to become a permanent part of our dear friend, which he's plainly trying to conceal from us and doing a horrible job with it. We know he would only do this for a very worthwhile reason, but we are not letting him go through it alone.   
No, poor Frodo has no idea just how stubborn his friends are. I suppose the older lot will think we're fools, following the young heir of one hobbit who is plainly considered to be slightly off his rocker off on some "adventure" we know nothing about, giving no notice, traipsing off as if we had a taste for _heroics_. Uncomfortable business, heroics; probably none of us are suited for them, except maybe Frodo. But if he is to go into danger, we will follow him. Somehow, we know he'll need us wherever he's going, and we won't let him go it alone.   
And then I dimly hear a knock, and voices speaking, and I know that my friends have arrived. Frodo still believes that his plans are hidden - but he won't for much longer. We plan to reveal ourselves, my fellow conspirators and I, tonight at dinner. So I take a deep breath and begin to walk up the hallway that leads to the outer rooms, setting in motion the workings of the trap that will catch its makers into Frodo's journey.   



	5. Ringwraith

  
This is by far the strangest. We weren't restricted to human/hobbit/elfish/whatever thinking characters, we could also do creatures. I toyed with the idea of doing one for Gollum, but discarded it because I figured someone else would do that (I was right, at least two others did) and I have this thing with being original. And then I realized I could probably do one on the ringwraiths and have it be almost nothing but torturous - and ask any of my friends, they'll tell you I have an alliance with interior torture. So I took the chance and wrote it. I'm actually kind of attached to it now.   
  


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_It's only fair to warn you: this one is going to be slightly strange. It's from the point of view of one - or all - of the ringwraiths, about how they are connected to the One Ring and why they follow Sauron. I can't really figure out when this one takes place._   
  
Its power is inescapable, even thousands of miles away, even in the deepest pits of the hells of Mount Doom. Always, we can feel it, we feel it calling to us, drawing us closer, whispering seductive thoughts of power and prestige in our vanished ears.   
Once we were good men, strong, and mortal. We were nine kings, the most powerful among men, and were each given the guardianship of one of the ancient rings when they were first forged. We above all others were trusted with their safekeeping, and we failed to protect them.   
But how could we have protected them from what was to come? The evil lord Sauron had powers greater than we could ever attain, and he had forged the One Ring, which could control all the other rings. The evil wove discreetly into our souls, turning us power-hungry, mad, and impulsive. We slowly, slowly faded to shadows of our former selves, becoming everything that was bad in the world, bad in men, the most evil thing that were usually deeply hidden in the souls where men were afraid to go. Our outsides changed too, becoming the embodiment of this rotten evil, turning us into frightening wraiths as our bodies withered away under the evil that we'd become. And that was where our new name came from: ringwraiths.   
We could not die anymore. We were beyond death entirely, too dead to die. We were doomed to wander the land at the bidding of Sauron, performing his tasks. Our human memories were obliterated over time until we had no idea what we were, where we had come from. We had no sense of _self_.   
We only know the ring, and the power, and the will of our lord. Our lord is great and terrible, and we serve him still, because we know nothing else. We can barely remember what happened the day before, and we have to speak the name of _Baggins_ out loud, even though we can barely speak, to not forget that as well.   
That name is the most important goal we've ever had. We must trace it, find the one bearing that name - a hobbit, we think it is - and reclaim our master's ring. Only once he has the ring can he become lord over all as he is meant to be. And he has cast the responsibility of finding it on us, his most devoted servants, the ones who have been with him all ways.   
It is a hard task. The ring is moving, and we must follow, but the bearer is cautious and hides himself well. We can only speak in hissing voices. Our appearance frightens all creatures. We have long since stopped caring, but it is hard to find information. All we can go on is the feeling of the ring inside us.   
But we can still feel the pull of the ring, we can trace it to its source. We love the ring, for it gives us power, but at the same time we have a dim notion of hating it for some reason. If we knew we had once been human we probably would realize that we hate it for what it took from us, what it made us. But those memories are gone.   
We love it. We hate it. And we cannot escape it.   



	6. Sam

  
I think Sam's may be my favorite. It's the longest, but not by much, as there _was_ a resticted length assigned to these things. His was the easiest to write by far; about half a sentence in I could swear I heard him talking in my head, and I just wrote down what he said. *grin* I have a weak spot for Sam, he's the greatest.   
  


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_This is Sam's thoughts on Strider and various other subjects when they first meet him at the Prancing Pony, when the three hobbits are talking to him in the private room._   
  
This Strider is a pest, and a menace. He comes barging into our little group without so much as a by-your-leave, offering us advice and demanding to be taken along. The only good thing so far is that he hasn't demanded money; we'd have none to give him, in any case. But how can he expect us to trust him after simply a few minutes, when he has told us nothing about himself? How can we trust someone that looks that much like a rogue? A dirty and unwashed one, at that.   
We all resent him somewhat for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, but I have to admit that I can feel another reason. Whatever he looks like, this human is obviously good with weapons, and sharp in the eye. It is my job to protect Mister Frodo on this quest, and though I may be a simple hobbit I know what loyalty is. If Strider is really as well meaning as he claims, he'll try and take my position. And keeping Mister Frodo safe _is_ my responsibility; I promised Gandalf all those months ago I'd never leave him for even the slightest part of a minute.   
I know I'm not the brightest of hobbits. My father seems to think that listening to Mister Bilbo's fantastic stories has addled my brain somewhat, or maybe made me into an improper hobbit like some consider Mister Frodo to be. I never claimed I was the brightest, or the wisest. I just liked hearing about the elves and all the other things beyond the borders of the Shire. And except for wanting to meet the elves, I had no inclination to adventure whatsoever, no matter what my dad thinks. But when I heard Mister Frodo had to go away, I made it plainly clear that I was going to go with him. He would need a friend on that journey, and I could provide that, at least. And I promised both Gandalf and myself that I would keep him out of as much trouble as I could.   
I am a little envious of Mister Frodo, him being so learned in things beyond the Shire. I realized I was long ago, when he could read out of Mister Bilbo's book as fast as a bird could fly and I was still struggling with the letters on their own. I wanted to know all he knew, even if I didn't wish for adventure, and I pushed the envy back as far as it could go. It's still there, a little, but I know that if I ever ask him something he will answer as well as he can. This is one reason why I respect him so much and why I refuse to leave him. There are several others, not the least of which being he is the kindest hobbit I have ever met. I can't let him go.   
I can't compare to this new man we've met. He seems smart and fast and agile and everything else I'm not. If he really is telling the truth, about any of the subjects he's speaking of, it would be a good thing to have him with us. He seems to know about those dastardly black riders that have frightened all of us so, know more than Gandalf ever told us. If he's a decent sort he could be very valuable to our party. If he _is_ a decent sort…   
So I find myself resenting Strider, as he goes on about black riders and Mister Frodo's "accident". He'll take my place by Mister Frodo's side, even if he doesn't mean to. I took it upon myself to protect Mister Frodo. I am not going to be pushed out of that job just because someone new and better comes along.   
But I do have one small comfort, which I keep hidden even more deeply than my resentment of Strider. Even if this man _does_ become sort of a guard for Mister Frodo, I might still be needed because I am his friend.   
  


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Thanks for reading everyone, and thanks for taking the time to review all of you who did. It means so much to hear I didn't completely screw up. See ya!   



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